Sculpted in Stone
by SassyMuse
Summary: After the first task, Ron is about to apologize. Harry desperately tries to ignore his own feelings and pretend that everything is fine.


Title: Sculpted in Stone.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR and Warner Bros. No money was made from writing this.

Summary: After the first task, Ron is about to apologize. Harry desperately tries to ignore his own feelings and pretend that everything is fine.

_First italicised sentence is taken from GoF p.313_

_–  
><em>

_Harry knew Ron was about to apologize. _

–

Harry's body had a strange hollow feel, as if his flesh had disappeared and his bones were made of glass.

Hermione stood silently between them, worriedly glancing from one to the other.

Harry thought that these weird feelings were just nerves lingering from the first task. His breath dragged heavily from his lungs as if they were made from tar.

Ron opened his mouth …

_Finally_, they could put this _stupid_ matter behind them.

Hermione looked anxiously at Ron.

Harry _didn't care_ about the way Ron had treated him.

Ron clicked his jaw shut.

Harry's eyes felt weird and he blinked away the feeling. It was all in the past now, anyway.

Hermione bit her lip and looked away.

It _didn't_ _matter_.

Ron stared at his feet.

Harry _wanted_ to _forget_ about this whole mess and restore his friendship with Ron. Return to when Harry had _trusted_ Ron and believed that Ron would trust Harry in return. Harry could just _pretend_ that his trust had never been _broken_. _Pretend_ that Ron never hurt him. As, it was _nothing_.

Harry's ribs felt brittle around his heavy lungs.

He could just make himself believe that it _never happened_– Something snapped–

Time stumbled to a crawl.

Harry barely registered Ron's mouth moving.

Issuing low and...

Distorted sounds.

Muffled with static.

As dull, stagnant sludge fell from Harry's, glass pierced, heart.

His mind plummeted.

–

Tiny, thin hands made grasping gestures in the air.

"Mummy."

Pain flashed across Harry's gaunt, little face and a woman's arm withdrew.

There was a piercing wail and its creator waved its pudgy arms in the air.

The blonde woman hoisted up the tubby, upset, toddler.

She held her crying child close in her arms. "Shh, darling," she murmured, her warm breath stirring the child's soft, golden hair.

Her lips brushed against the infant's head as she glared at the bewildered boy upon the floor, cradling his cheek.

Her head shifted to the side and she spat, "I am _not _your _mother_," at the boy below. And she turned, dismissing the _other_ from her mind as she resumed soothing her whimpering son.

Harry watched her – silent and still, as if sculpted in stone – as she walked away, until his sight clouded, and the subtle taste of salt dripped onto his bottom lip.

–

What could Harry have said or done to make her care?

He found that he could do nothing.

As at her core she was pitiless and dead, yet so full of rage, as though, forged from molten iron.

But, sometimes she would _pretend_ that she felt some, gentle emotion for him.

When around certain ears she would say all the right words: of care, love, and forgiveness, but without any consideration or feeling attached. So these words, stripped of their meaning, became dead and rotten. And when Harry heard them: they made his skin itch and scuttle across his flesh.

The awful sense of vileness rose when he had to _act_ that way towards her. Complicit in the murdering of meaning, he robbed actions of their value. And in doing so, he contributed to his own inner deadness, all to avoid an _'or else'_.

And she remained rigid and cruel, utterly fixed in her understanding of him.

That would never change, because she would not, and she wasn't even _aware_ that she needed to.

–

Time leapt back into place as Harry heard the roar of the crowd outside the tent.

Harry realised that he had missed, barely, the beginning of Ron's rather long-winded and stalling speech that was apparently an apology, but bared little resemblance.

"–I mean, you… You should've… I'm s- But… What I'm trying to say is… That you… Well, that I-"

"Stop." Harry implored. "I can't do this."

"_Harry_," Hermione pleaded.

"Hermione don't interfere, this is not about Ron's or my friendship with you. I have to settle this with him, without your involvement."

"But… _gah!" _She stomped her foot. "You two are so –" and rather than finish the sentence Hermione threw her arms in the air and stormed off, the canvas flap snapping behind her.

Ron rolled his eyes and, after a pause, carried on as if they had never been interrupted.

"Can't do what, mate?" Ron asked, his confusion creasing across his freckled face, as he stared at Harry.

"Act as though the last few weeks never happened. I can't do it, Ron, to you, or to myself."

"I don't understand."

_No, you never do_. "What happens if I accept your apology? Forget all about the previous month? This is really, what you want me to do. Don't deny it."

"I wasn't going t-"

"All I would be doing is sweeping the whole _mess_ under the rug. And what's to stop you the next time, you think you've been wronged, in some way, and treating me like _dirt_ as you have been do–"

"That's not fair, Harry!" Ron shouted.

"Isn't it? You were so clouded with jealously that you thought I'd put my name in the goblet. I mean you don't seem to know me, _at all_, despite _three whole years_ of friendship! What makes you think I would relish the opportunity to get burnt to a bloody crisped by a dragon and, or _eaten by it_?"

"I didn't think –"

"That's right you didn't. You thought what every other person thought: that I must be some sort of glory hound. What, in the hell, gave you that impression?"

"You're the boy-who-lived."

Harry felt like he'd been struck. "… That's what you really think of me?"

Harry quickly wiped underneath one eye, took a steadying breath and continued, "I don't feel that we can be friends again, Ron."

"What! Why..? Har-"

"Or, at least, be as close as we were before. Or rather, as close as I thought we were. And I am sorry for that. You might never know how much. I have missed you, but I can't do this again."

"Do what, again? Harry, I'm sorry – I don't know what, else, you want me say? Tell me, whatever it is, I'll say it…"

Harry shivered and just looked at Ron. Whatever his expression was it made Ron stare wide-eyed at Harry, as if he had never seen him before.

"… Harry?"

Ron's face stripped itself of colour as Harry turned around and-

"Please?" Ron whispered, his voice unsteady.

Harry stilled, but didn't look back. "I'm sorry," His head bowed and he swallowed. "But you're going to have to figure this out for yourself." Harry straightened his spine.

And walked away.


End file.
